


The Caretaker

by Judyku



Category: Friday the 13th Series (Movies)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Homophobic Language, Racist Language, Sexist Language, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-14 06:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1256218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Judyku/pseuds/Judyku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wanted: A caretaker to work year round at Camp Crystal Lake, 8,000 pcm, accommodation and car provided, medical and dental included. Position to be urgently filled. Please contact Sheriff Ross on (304) 278 3981. Elissa McCormack grabbed the phone and dialed, unknowing her desperation and destitution would see her solving a murder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broke, but still good

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: Just before it's pointed out or reported, I've posted this over on FF.net under the name of DeadlyFriend! I'd also like to thank the two awesome women who inspired this story of mine. You know who you are :) 
> 
> Judyku xx

It didn't take a genius to figure out what the Sheriff thought of her at first sight. His gaze roved over her frame from head to toe while his eyebrows rose high enough to disappear under his hat. She understood, of course, what with being vertically challenged and skinny as hell. So she made a point to open doors for herself and pull out her own chair, all the while trying to ignore the incredulity that appeared on his weathered face.

Now here she was, sitting in his cozy little office, with only the ticking of a clock to break the uncomfortable silence.

Minutes passed by and nothing was said, until the awkward quiet chaffed on her last nerve.

She stuck out her hand in greeting, which she should have done when she first saw him, but never mind. "I'm Elissa McCormack. I'm here about the job at..."

"Mrs. McCormack," Sheriff Ross stated as he shook her hand, "while I 'preciate ya comin’ on down so quick..."

"It's Miss. Just Miss." Elissa replied a tad too abruptly. She knew what was coming next and she'd be damned if she let this opportunity go without a fight.

In a time when jobs were scarce for the well-educated, and worse for someone with her deck of cards, a job like this was a damn godsend. A home, a car, and an excellent benefits package, which would be a damn life saver for a Type 1 diabetic. Then there was the salary. It was almost eight grand a month, and after living off state handouts for over a year, that eight grand was like rain after a major drought.

Hell, she'd been offered five grand just for coming down to talk about the job. She didn't know why, and frankly she didn't care, not when she had the ability to eat properly tonight, not to mention pay off the large amount of debt she'd wracked up.

Sure, she hadn't been a straight A student at school, but she had made it through college with a major in English Lit and a minor in World History. She had yet to find a job. She always got the same old story, and that well and truly grated on what little pride she had left.

Her diabetes wasn't much help, either. Most companies weren't all too accommodating when it came to needing time off, even for a hospital appointment. Then there was the insulin. Yes, it kept her alive, but one of the side effects was osteoporosis and with her being born diabetic, her bone density had to be checked a lot.

Thankfully, all was good on the Western front, so she could afford to relax for a while. Well, at least until the next check.

So here she was, a twenty-nine year old who seemed to have a terminal case of ne'er do well, and who was about to be told, again, that this job wasn’t for her.

"Mz McCormack?"

The Sheriff's voice jolted her out of her mental pity party. "Sorry. Am I hired?"

He rubbed a worn hand across his lips. "Well, see, ma'am. A job like this is real tough like and a lil lady as yerself might find it a bit..."

Elissa's jaw hit the floor, but he continued before she could respond. He waved that worn hand in a gesture that told her not to get her knickers in a knot.

"Now don get me wrong, mz. I ain't meanin no disrespect. Am jus' sayin is you're a mite on the lil side is all and I don't wanta be findin you in no bad way."

Her mousy, unkempt curls bounced when she firmly shook her head. "Look, when I called about this job, I was told it needed to be urgently filled. I drove straight here; I slept in my car so I could afford the gas. I've lived on dollar store noodles for two days straight and lemme tell you how fun that's not been. I need this job, Sheriff."

The pity on the man's face made her teeth ache. "Hard times for a lotta folk in this day and age, but it ain't me who gets ta decide if ya stay."

She stared at him, gray eyes wide with amazement. "You're telling me that I've driven all this way, left my friends who have basically kept me alive for the last sixteen months, to talk to a man who isn't in charge of hiring?"

Anger coiled deep and hard in stomach, her hands clenched into fists as she kept staring at him, her gaze unwavering and full of steely determination. Her lips pursed outward as her nostrils flared with each slow exhalation of breath fueled by frustration.

She rose in as calm a manner as possible. "Then if you'll excuse me, I'm going to talk to whoever is in charge. Thanks for wasting my time."

Elissa paused on realising she didn't know who was in charge. "By the way, who is in charge?"

Sheriff Ross looked at her with an expression she couldn't decipher. "I’d hate to hafta advertise this job again; that ain't somethin this lil town can afford. Now, I 'preciate yer tenaciousness, Mz McCormack, but yer capabilities ain't in question."

A noise of sheer frustration left her mouth. "And I appreciate your candor, Sheriff, but I need this job." Her landlord had probably found another tenant by now, so it wasn't just the money she needed, it was a place to stay.

"I understand yer predicament, ma'am, I ain't got a block o' ice in my chest. This situation is a mite delicate is all and I'd hate ta see a nice lil lady like you end up on the business end of a warnin’ for trespassin’. Ya see, mz McCormack, this situation..."

"Was for a caretaker." She interrupted. "Here I am, wanting to take care of whatever it is that needs taking care of. I can prove to the head honcho that I can do it. I can. Hell, the exercise will probably help me get in shape and that'll help lower my medical costs."

Oops.

She hadn't meant to let that slip out. The moment potential employers heard the word “diabetes,” it was like a switch was flipped, and her chances went down the toilet before she could even introduce herself.

Sheriff Ross raised his eyebrows in question and she sighed in dismay, mentally kissing any hope goodbye. "Diabetic."

Elissa mentally counted down. Pity in

_Three..._

_Two..._

_One_...

Yup.

There it was. First came the raised brows of surprise, then came the little head tilt of the well intended ignorance and finally, there was the unspoken aww you poor thing. She internally sighed, prepared to upgrade her fight for the job to the point of chaining herself to the office door in protest.

He looked at her for quite some time and she was just about to comment on it when he slowly rose from his seat, with one hand aimed toward his back pocket, from which he pulled his wallet. This time, it was she who did the staring as he counted the bills before folding them up and handing them to her.

"Two hundred bucks right there." He said eventually. "Now I strongly suggest ya get yerself a coupla nights down at the Sleep Easy Inn outside of town, then be on yer way. I'll pull a few strings so that check clears sooner than standard."

Charity, her overly proud mind spat, the only thing worse than damn pity. She'd spent the year living off of the charity and goodwill of her friends, knowing she wouldn't be able to pay them a single cent in return or even treat them to a beer once in awhile. Now here she was, with an opportunity to have a decent job, one that had been classified as urgent, and this man was about to send her away without so much as a bat of an eyelash.

Not a rutting chance.

Elissa's lip curled up and she looked down at the folded papers in the man's hand, disgust written all over her face. "You were going to tell me who is in charge." Statement, not a question.

"Mz McCormack..."

"Please? All I'm asking for is a chance. One damn chance."

Sheriff Ross tightened his grip around his offering, then sighed and shook his head. "Yer too much like my wife, ma'am. Ain't ever been able to say no to her. You got the job."

The wave of relief that rushed through her almost knocked her on her ass, and she had to grab the cop to steady herself. She closed her eyes in an effort to hold back the tears. She had a job. An actual job that would pay enough to see her right as rain. More than right; she'd finally be able to make a dent in her debt, and with not having to pay rent on her new place, the extra money could be set aside. Plus, she'd be able to pay her friends back and...

Money might not bring happiness, but it damn sure brought security and that was good enough for her.

"I guess that's why she's your wife," Elissa said, her voice cracking as she fought to keep the prickly hot tears from falling.

Sheriff Ross didn't laugh, and her urge to throw herself at him in gratitude dissipated. "If y'all will follow me. I'll take ya right on up to Pierfront."

She hadn't been this excited since the weight of the world had crushed her spirit. Eagerly, Elissa McCormack followed the man out of the office, a spring in her step and luxury on her mind. "Pierfront? I thought the job was at Crystal Lake."

The sudden silence in the sheriff's department was like magic. One moment the general hustle and bustle of a small town cop shop and then it was as though someone had shut the power down on the vocal chords of every single person in there. She glanced around, wondering if she could sell her new superpower to her friend, sure it would come in handy when the twins arrived.

"Get on back to work, now, ya hear?"

"But, Chief..." The voice of one single deputy was heard and Elissa looked at him, wondering about the pallor of the young man's skin.

"Ain't nothin for ya ta be worryin on, Hollins... As it happens, ya can follow us in Mz McCormack's car."

She watched Hollins swallow thickly before he nodded.

"Hand over yer keys."

"But I can..." The sheriff's gaze was hard, unyielding. "Fine."

"Come along, Mz McCormack. It wouldn't do fer us to be out in the woods after dark. I suggest you keep that in mind, missy."

Elissa's eyes widened as she followed him to his car. "So the job is at Crystal Lake?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And Pierfront, I'm guessing, is the name of the house?" Her house. She had a house with its own name. She was set for life here!

"Yes, ma'am."

Damn, but she wanted to punch the air, dance the Macarena, anything as long as she could get the crazy joy out before any neighbors saw it. "Are there any other residents near the lake?"

The Sheriff sighed, and cut it with his reply. "Ain't nobody lived around that ol lake fer a long time. Ain't the land o' dreams now."

"Since the little boy drowned?" Elissa had to be honest with herself; it unnerved her, moving to a place with such a horrendous history, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

Maybe that's why the Sheriff and the whole station had gone silent when she mentioned it. Perhaps they still felt it, almost as though it was they who had been dealt such a tragedy. When she'd read about Crystal Lake online, she'd honestly felt her heart break as she thought about her nephew, nine-year-old little Craig, and how she would feel if something so awful happened to him. She might not be able to imagine how Jason Voorhees had felt, but she was human and she could more than understand the emotions that must have gone through him.

Being bullied was something she knew all too well, though not quite to the same extent. She knew what it was like to be mocked and made the butt of jokes. Hell, one year in school, a guy had put Sweet-n-Low in her coffee and almost killed her.

Huh. Maybe she understood Jason Voorhees more than she gave herself credit for.

Sadly, Eric Belford came from a very well-to-do family and there hadn't been much by way of compensation for his little trick. It hadn't been about the money, but the Belford lawyer had played the judge like a damn instrument. She'd suffered for the last two years of high school because of him and his trick, yet all he got was a three-week suspension, which he spent at his family ski lodge in Aspen, and a slap on the wrist. Of course, he never came near her after that, but that wasn't the point.

Asshole, Elissa thought bitterly, as memories of those two years appeared in her head. What she wouldn't give to stick a needle full of crack up his ass, or somewhere else that would really, really hurt. Like his dick. Which was probably smaller than his pinky.

"We're here, Mz McCormack."

Oh. Right. Her new house and...

"Ohhhh..."

Gray eyes went wide as she looked out of the car window and up at the cabin, if one could call it that. It was house of logs. Two stories high, with a loft, and floor to ceiling windows. It wasn't something out of a billionaire's wet dream, but it was so beautiful and perfectly situated, what with a small wooden pier adjacent to it. Her imagination was inundated with images of lazing on the patio in the summer, the smell of the lake carried by a warm breeze, her Kindle in one hand and an ice cold glass of sugar free lemonade in the other.

Heaven, she decided. This was heaven.

Wait, wait, her brain screamed at a decibel currently unheard of.

You're being paid eight thousand dollars a month, you have a house, a car, and a medical package that has the works.

Elissa closed her eyes as she struggled to get control of herself. Her hands gripped the lowered car window and she inhaled deeply in preparation for the questions she wanted answering. Not that she knew what she wanted answering, of course, because she didn't know...

Well, she didn't really know anything about Crystal Lake, except for that poor little boy, but this was too good to be true.

She had once read a book called The Gift Of Fear by a man named Gavin de Becker. The author worked with not just the FBI and CIA, but also criminals and victims and their families. In this book, he said to listen to and to trust your instincts, and if something seemed too good to be true, it usually was.

It took a lot of willpower, but she pushed her needs to one side and focused on the details.

A caretaker job, for eight grand a month, accommodation and transport included, full medical package, and if something bad happened to her, another advertisement would need to be made. One with a significant wage hike, a hike the town could ill afford.

Elissa sighed as she tore her gaze away from her house and looked at Sheriff Ross. "What's the catch?"

He went to speak, but she raised her hand for him to keep quiet.

"A lot of what you've said doesn't ring like the bells of St. Clement's. I know that there's something you're not telling me and it doesn't sound like you want to explain it."

Sheriff Ross got out of the car. Elissa noticed that the first thing he did was draw his gun.

"Let's get us inside, shall we? I ain't one fer leavin my wife n kids. You’ll understand soon enough."


	2. Chop and Cha Cha

The inside, if possible, was better than the outside, and Elissa knew she closely resembled an excited six-year-old as she was led around by the sheriff. Each and every window at the front side of the house had a stunning view of the lake, which was as crystal as the name suggested. As if that wasn’t enough to make a grown woman squeal, then the back of the house surely would.

The inside was better than the outside, she decided as her gaze panned the open plan. Or it would be better once she had a chance to put her own mark on the place. As it stood at the moment, it was perfect for attracting viewers, what with the clean and cut decor, designed for the modern minimalist.

The first thing to go would be the furniture.

Oh, there was nothing wrong with the furniture per se, but it was all leather and shiny, and…

Elissa scowled.

Masculine.

She took a closer, more scrutinizing look about, deciding that the place had not been designed for a minimalist, but a _man_.

Her expression must have been portrayed on her face as sheriff Ross held up his hands. “I ain’t guilty, ma’am.”

“Uh-huh.”

She waved off the indignation she felt on behalf of her sex and carried on further in, her mind mentally redressed everything she saw. A little colour here, a corner lamp there, a cute rug by the hot tub near the rear patio.

Wait, what?

Elissa’s feet moved faster than the speed of light, coming to a screeching halt by the large patio at the back of the house. She looked, looked again, and looked some more until it became real that she did, in fact, own a hot tub. And it was just to perfectly situated.

Grand, tall redwood trees seemingly touched the sky, while solid oak trees boasted an abundance of acorns and trunks thick as anything. Mingling between these two giants were silver birch trees, weeping willows, and other little ones that made for a postcard view. 

Not that she could use it, of course, but that wasn’t the point. She supposed she could dip her toes in now and again during the cold winter nights. That was a thing she hadn’t bothered to check before zooming to Crystal Lake.

Elissa glanced at the sheriff. “What’s the weather like?” It was obvious she needed to elaborate. “Too much heat burns up the sugar.”

He nodded as though he understood. “At this time o’year, well… I expect we’ll be seein a bit o’rain, so ya best be careful around that lake.”

“Flooding?”

“Thankfully not so bad as that, but she does burst her banks a mite.”

“And summer? I can imagine a place like this gets pretty busy.”

There it was again.

The strange sort of tension that had filled the whole police department, that niggling sense that he knew something she didn’t, something she should know. She couldn’t imagine what that something might be, nor why it would affect everyone as much as it obviously did.

Deputy Hollins had paled to a sickly shade, and shook in his boots when asked to accompany them to Pierfront. Hell, the entire cop station had descended into silence for crying out loud, and if that didn’t say something was up, then the Sheriff’s hand constantly on his gun certainly did.

Elissa figured she ought to be fleeing for her life considering what she was witnessing, but when one didn’t have a lot to lose…

Well, one never really thought clearly when life began to pick up.

It was this that served to bring her down to Earth, and she inhaled, determined not to concentrate on the the shoe which threatened to fall. There were other things requiring her attention before everything slipped through her fingers.

Like seeing the upstairs for one, and the bathroom, and the…

“How many bedrooms?” She quizzed as she pushed herself away from the patio windows and the view they afforded.

“Three, includin’ the master room.”

“There’s a master bedroom?”

The man sighed, a sure fire sign her parroting grated on his last nerve.

“Sorry,” Elissa tried to inject an ounce of honesty to her apology, but she was pretty certain she failed.

Sheriff Ross grunted, then gestured to a spot over her shoulder. “How ‘bout we jus’ go take a look, hm? Maybe it won’t be to yer likin’.”

“Then you can hire one of those big, strong men you have lined up to help fix it... Where are they, by the way? Wait, don’t tell me. You left them in your other pants.”

She felt quite smug at the glare he sent her and smiled, pleased she yet again made her point. His glare turned sour, which was all the invitation needed to go help herself to the upstairs.

Elissa turned away from the large window at the back, and followed the Sheriff’s gesture towards the stairs.

She approached yet another large window on the landing, her eyes wide as she looked at the reflection of nature on the calm surface of the lake.

She really, really wished for the talent of photography, because wow - and she honestly meant wow with every bit of her being.

She traced the outline of the pier on the glass and pushed her face up close, her breath creating a fog which she had to rub off with her sleeve, lest she leave grubby fingerprints behind.

The grime and grubby would be washed off the second Sheriff Ross left. And the unpacking of her two bags, of course. No sense in diving into a...

"Tub or shower?"

Her question startled the Sheriff from his own surveying of the outside. "Both, ma'am. May I say that The Sleep Easy has one of them fancy jacuzzis. Yer might give it a..."

"I'll make a reservation once I'm settled in," Elissa smiled, not once turning away from the prospect her window offered. Her eyes, bless their little ocular selves, had been starved of good sights for so long that she prayed they didn't fall out from relief.

"If yer'll follow me..."

She watched as he glanced long and hard out of her window, though she very much doubted he was admiring the scenery.

It took a lot of willpower for Elissa to pull herself away from her sight-seeing, and she was ever so thankful she did, because the upstairs was absolutely wonderful. A spacious room that spanned at least half of the living room, the bedrooms nicely laid out, and made private by solid oak doors, which appeared a dark gold in the late afternoon sun that streamed through that window.

_This can't be mine. This can't be mine. This can't be mine_ , was all she could think as she stood there, staring, and waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Nothing else could sum up her life so well, and now here she was, with the world almost at her feet, and she was waiting for the closet full of skeletons to be revealed.

_Maybe it isn't a closet full of skeletons. Could be a tiny box of souls instead_. 

Elissa mentally smirked as she trailed after her silent escort, who still hadn't holstered his gun.

As a person with nothing to her name, people watching had become her favourite hobby. It cost nothing, vastly amusing, heartbreaking, and so very helpful. It allowed her to calculate the true thoughts and feelings of those around her, how they saw the world, other people in general, and most importantly, their opinions on her. Though she despised to admit it, with her position in life as vulnerable as it was, she needed people around her who she could believe in with all her heart.

"The master bedroom, ma'am..."

The Sheriff opened the door and Elissa said “Oooh…”

Space.

Lots and lots of wonderful space, with a large window that she saw looked right over the lake.

She stood at the foot of the bed, her eyes closed, and imagination wandered to where she slept soundly on a night, with the window open just enough to allow the scent of wood and water to drift in. Her arms wrapped around her small body and she jumped on the spot, eyes now open, and shining with giddy happiness.

Elissa gave one last jump, uncaring of the fact the town Sheriff was stood right behind her.

She had bigger fish to fry, such as actually looking at the room instead of fantasizing about having a good nights’ sleep.

The room itself was mostly undecorated, she notes, but it was furnished, and from what she could tell, the furnishings were excellent quality. The drawers and cabinets were all made of solid oak, that much was clear, and were unvarnished, so there was no shine to them. In her opinion, shiny furniture just looked snooty and tacky, not to mention the fact that it reminded her of great aunt Griselda’s house.

Great Aunt Griselda McCormack was the rich one in the family, and boy did she let everyone know it. A more snooty woman could not be found on Earth.

Elissa shook her head and focused on what was in front of her.

"Are these made locally?" She asked, her finger running along the top of a dresser. "I mean, the oak isn't hard to come by around here."

Sheriff Ross nodded. "That it is, ma'am. Designed by one of our craftsmen, a Mr. Gregory Jones. Been workin’ around these here parts for nigh on twenty years."

"Nice." Sort of.

That would mean the older trees were chopped down, so what did that mean for the local wildlife? It wasn't something Elissa had really concerned herself with before, but it seemed different now. Like having the forest slowly taken away just so homes could have beautiful decor to be talked about over champagne and caviar.

"Now, now. Don't worry that pretty face o'yers. The conservation society sees to it there are plenty of seeds planted in place."

She nodded, though didn't think a couple of seeds could replace trees that had taken eons to grow. Instead of stating her opinion, which she was known to do, she said, "You should give lessons to other places. The world needs all the help it can get."

The Sheriff's eyebrows did an odd sort of dance, then recognition appeared on his face. "Yer resume did state yer interest. Done much in that line o'work?"

"Some," Elissa replied, hoping her face didn't betray her thoughts. "I got arrested once for being handcuffed to a park railing."

The psychologists always said a good lie held an ounce of truth, and the truth was that she had been chained in a park, but it had nothing to do with conservation. So some quick thinking occured in her brain pan, as he did not need to know about any college stunts.

The Sheriff thankfully ask any questions.

"Well now, that's mighty brave," he finally said, his breath coming out in a heavy puff. "What were ya tryin ta protest?"

So much for no questions.

Elissa, again, didn't lie per se. It was tradition at her college sorority that the freshman who drew the short straw got what they picked out of the hat. However, when her friends came back with the keys to the cuffs an hour later, she had already been taken into custody. "Heritage. Years and years of heritage.”

It still brought a smile to her face, despite the extreme talking too she got from her parents.

Sheriff Ross gave a grunt, and just like that, the topic was dropped.

He walked over to a corner and flicked the light switch, and to her amazement, a panel of the wall slid open to reveal a second wall behind it, this one made of solid steel.

Elissa stared at it, and her nerves seemed to sting all at once, and the voice inside, that little whisper of female intuition, told her to run as far and as fast as she could.

“Anyhow,” came his gruff voice. “This right here...”

“Is a panic room.” She muttered, her feet moving of their own accord. “Why do I have a panic room?”

 

XXXXX

 

Jason had been having such a nice day until they came, driving up in a police car and a very old, run down Ford that appeared to have the license plate tied to the back.

He hid behind a tree, turning his body to an angle that kept him from their line of sight, yet allowing him to observe as the vehicles came to a stop. The Ford gave a bit of a bang and a wispy, light smoke came from the engine. Whomever drove it was definitely risking their life.

He squinted against the sun and tilted his head, noting a person in the passenger side of the police car, the meaning made his gut clench. The anger inside began to simmer, setting off a chain reaction of lungs that burned and tightening muscles. His right hand curled around the hilt of his machete, the wood smooth to the touch and warmed from his body.

Somebody was here to take the place of Old Jed, and that knowledge didn’t sink in until the car doors opened. Nobody exited the Ford, which meant a deputy had escorted them to where a killer walked the graves of two innocents.

One was Jedediah Smithson, and the second, well, that was himself.

Jason Voorhees.

Born in 1948 and died in 1957, yet here he was now, in 2014, and watching people walk into a house that did not belong to them.

One of which was Sheriff Ross, the unelected law chief of Crystal Lake.

The sheriff was the first out of the cop car and he stood there, one hand on the car door and the other rubbed his forehead as he looked around.

Jason gave him credit for surveying good and hard before taking action.

The second person to show themselves was a woman, and the first thing Jason noticed was hair.

Lots and lots of hair that resembled curled up straw. It didn’t shine in the sunlight, it didn’t shimmer or anything a magazine would say. It was just hair naturally curled into ringlets that only came to a stop at her waist. He had heard stories so many times, from the girls who came to camp, how they would love to have this hair and that hair, and how they paid a hundred bucks to get this done and that done.

He supposed he just like any other ordinary man where that was concerned. He simply didn’t get it.

She was small, too, the top of her head just about over the top of the car. He couldn’t see her face, but that didn’t matter. She was dead no matter what she looked like.

Jason watched them go inside, a machete firmly held in one hand and a bear trap in the other, his single mindedness focused his attention solely on the woman with the local Sheriff. His automatic response kicked in, and he stood there, behind the large tree, angled his body so he could see without being seen. He observed the woman following that useless Sheriff, her body language screamed the fact that she was begging. Begging for what, he didn't know, but if she thought she was going to move into Old Jed's house and take his place, then she thought very wrong indeed.

She didn't have a damn clue. None of them did, and neither did that man Crystal Lake had elected as sheriff. He certainly hadn't done anything to justify his position as chief law enforcer. It had been almost three months and there was still no sign of who killed Jedediah Smithson. Knowing the town in which he lived, Jason knew they all blamed him, just like they did for every other brutal killing or beating that went on.

Jedediah Smithson, Old Jed as Jason had called him, had been his friend and he had been a friend in turn. When the old man had taken a bad fall, who had been there for him? 

Certainly not those who had been termed as “family.” 

The son, Graham, had visited Jed twice in the eight weeks it had taken the old man’s ribs to heal. The daughter had called once, and that was mainly to squeeze money out of the man’s veins. It hadn’t been family that took care of the old man, but him, Jason Voorhees.

It was also Jason Voorhees who had apparently killed the old man, too.

Jason Voorhees who had caused the old man to fall and break three ribs, and Jason Voorhees who set the fire that killed Jedediah Smithson.

He stared at his friend's house, amazed how it was the same and yet so very different. There was no sign of the flame that had consumed the house, that had licked at and burned his feet, no smell of scorched flesh to torment his nostrils, no wheezing breaths of an old man to break his heart, telling him to run, to get away, to save himself.

His grip on the machete tightened, and a swell of rage and hate burned just as hard, just as quick, as those flames. 

Those flames had been so very hot as they licked against his skin, his clothes melted on him as he had hacked away at them with everything he had. 

Useless, Jason knew, he had been nothing but useless. For a long time, he had believed his mother when she called him special, and for a long time, he believed he could walk on water, even before he died. He held himself so high and he was so proud, despite what everyone said, despite the mockery and the vicious laughter, he had believed. He had held within his heart the faith that he could do anything, and when he came to after drowning, that belief had soared.

He had heard, even from his mother, that the higher a person was, the further they fell, but that could not happen to him. Oh no. Not after he had survived drowning, not after surviving several other attempts on his life.

And then Old Jed came along.

And so did the fire.

He fell and he fell hard. For all he had at his disposal, he couldn't save his friend, and he seethed. 

In his home at the mines, he would sit at his grinding stone, sharpening everything he could lay his hands upon. Axes, knives, arrows, and a replica weapon that hadn't been dangerous until he got a hold of it. Made it sharp enough to slice a six inch thick vine in one swing.

All the weapons he used to protect the Voorhees grounds and keep the lake clean meant nothing, not one damn thing. Jedediah Smithson had died in his arms, and no amount of weapons or abilities to survive had helped him, so yes. Jason Voorhees had fallen, but now he knew better. 

He was not special and he could not walk on water, and nothing he did mattered because they would keep coming and coming. They would keep on desecrating his land however they saw fit, while that so-called “sheriff” and his fellow deputies did nothing to stop it.

Jason often wondered what they, and by they he meant the town, would do if he just stopped. 

They made a lot of money from his infamy, he knew, with tourists and campers, and the ghoulish folk who wanted tours to the places where killings had occurred. All of that brought business to the town, and thus provided the town with the ability to eat, and provided enough money to fund the election of Sheriff Gregory Ross.

While they all lived in luxury, he wore clothes that were tatty and torn, shoes he had to steal from those he killed as they trespassed on the Voorhees lands. He lived in mines where there was no toilet with plumbing, no heating, and the only way to cook food was with camping equipment.

Fact was, nobody gave a damn about him, and now that Sheriff had just poured a little too much salt in his wounds. Moving someone into Old Jed's House was more than he could take.

Jason would hide when trespassers and poachers came. Hide, watch and observe, learn their weaknesses, then he would go for them. Take them down, and wait until their eyes turned lifeless, then leave them as food.

Unlike them, he wanted this woman to see him, to know what was coming to her. So as he watched the law man show the woman into the house, he moved out from behind his tree and waited for her to see him.

Once, before Old Jed, he would have waited, and if the person didn't cause any trouble, he would let them be. He didn't enjoy killing; it was a chore, and he longed for the day when he didn't have to do it anymore. But he had land and when people came to urinate and defecate all over it, he would do what was necessary. Some people protected their homes and families with guns, and some by using exquisite fighting techniques. So he was no different.

Despite popular theory, he had no problem with sex. It wasn't filthy or dirty, or bad or what they said about his like and dislikes as they hired new so-called “caretakers.” What he didn't like were the beer cans strewn about, used condoms full of semen thrown into the lake, flowers that took a decade to bloom, killed by urine...

Filth, plain and simple.

Yet it never crossed the minds of any of those townsfolk why he never killed the etymologists, or the nature photographers, those who came to highlight the beauty of Crystal Lake. 

Those he loved, truly, as they saw past the myths and legends of Jason Voorhees, the little boy who drowned. They saw a lake that had fish and wildlife, deer, squirrels, some beautiful birds, and the like. It wasn't just the campers and the tourists and the ghoulish who came here, but that never entered the small minds of those who blamed him for everything that went wrong in their lives.

Now, as he stood there, watching the sheriff and the woman watch him from Old Jed’s house, his only thought was he would not hide anymore, and when Jason thought something, Jason did it.

And Jason had stopped hiding.

 

XXXXX

 

“Are you quite finished, ma’am?”

Elissa beamed, unable to keep her delight contained, and stepped out of the panic room for the last time. “At least I know it works.”

“Hmm…” Sheriff Ross pressed the button and the door closed for the last time. 

She sighed oh so happily and looked once again around her bedroom, and thought how pretty some forest style wall stencils would look painted in various shades of green.

Her hands reached out to touch the door, the cool chill of oak met ice cold steel, her smile faded as she bit her lip, mind now in overdrive. 

Nothing about this made any sense at all. The five grand just for coming to Crystal Lake being the first, then the incredible health insurance package, and finally... Well, to sum it up, this. It was like a beautiful blonde with dirty underwear, she thought, and looked at sheriff Ross.

“There’s food an’ water in here that oughta last ya fer a week. There’s also a radio,” he explaining. “Cept the radio only works if this steel door here is open, ya understand?”

She nodded.

“Now, at the first sign o’trouble, ya bring yer self right up, and get on that blower. The boys’ll not be long, ya hear? That’s if ya can get ta here, o’course.”

Again, she nodded, but this time she spoke. “Understood.”

He shook his head, the movement caused shadows to pass over the dull shine of gray on the door. “Well, now I got to git on back to the station. Ya see, we got some young ‘uns stopping by for their class, and I got to give me a speech about being a damn pitiful pushover.”

“This is it.” Elissa said flatly. “No answers or explanations.”

Sheriff Ross didn’t answer as he was too busy walking out of her bedroom.

She followed at a faster pace until she caught up to him, her hand on his arm forceful enough to make him face her. “This job isn’t for a caretaker, is it?”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “It is, ma’am, just not fer the lake.”

“Then you better tell me and tell me now exactly why I got five grand just for coming down here.” The sudden burst of anger left her breathless, and the tight feeling in her chest simply infuriated her more. “Maybe you think a woman working is bad...”

He cut her off right then and there, his voice and tone sharper than any needle she had used in her entire life. “I ain’t got no problem with women in the workforce, Mz McCormack. What I do take issue with are young ‘uns like you bitin’ off more’n ya can chew.”

Elissa felt her face burn, his genuine response and chastising went direct to her heart. “I’m sorry, sheriff, I’m just used to...”

“Where no offense is meant, no offense is taken. Now, hear me, ma’am, and hear me well. You take care and the second you feel anything is out of sorts, an I do mean anything, you get your tushy right on in that panic room...”

“No.”

This time, like most of the conversations between them, was cut short by a sharp retort.

Elissa crossed her arms over her chest and raised her chin defiantly. “No, I won’t. I won’t do anything until you stop treating me like I’m not here for anything except a look-out for you and your thin blue line.”

As she said that, she realised that it was, in fact, true. He said just before she wasn’t here to take care of the lake, which meant she was here to take care of something very different. Something the sheriff wouldn’t, or couldn’t, explain, since he all but came out and stated her questions were to remain unanswered as the sound of a car engine was heard.

 

XXXXX

 

Deputy Hollins had sat in the beat up Ford, his nervousness increasing to the point where all he could do was stare out the window at the lake. Biting his lip was impossible now, and he was pretty sure he tasted blood.

“Come on, come on!”

His right leg began bounce up and down as he yet again looked over his shoulder, his eyes flitting from one side of the rear window to the other.

That Voorhees freak wouldn’t sneak up on him.

No Sirree.

A twig snapped and his head spun round so fast, he actually felt the sting of whiplash make his neck ache.

“What was that?”

Wide eyed, young Deputy Hollins shook the steering wheel as his left leg joined the right, both moving so fast, the seat squeaked.

He couldn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything, anyone, out in the trees.

Waiting.

Just like that Voorhees.

One hand moved down to where he could flick the keys with his fingers, the cool metal providing a small bit of comfort. Not even that undead psycho could catch a car.

That’s if the old tin can started.

What the hell possessed the chick to buy this piece, anyway? Rusted, loose parts, smoking engine... It was a fuckin death trap.

Which was what that house would be if those two stayed in there any longer.

Hollins stopped breathing.

What if Jason was in there now? Killing the Chief and that chick?

Shit.

No damn radio in the piece of crap, so he couldn’t call Ross.

No amount of money would get him out of this car. Hell, if he did and he ended up on the wrong side of that one man freak show, he doubted he’d see five grand go to his family. So why should he put his life on the line just to check on that chick, huh?

What the hell was she doing here, anyway? What was she? 80 pounds wet through?

Jesus Christ.

He shook his head and bet she’d last a week, maybe two at the most.

Hollins smirked.

Or she might just last longer. She was kinda cute. Small, but that was a good thing. And that hair of hers. Well, a man could do all sorts with hair like that.

He figured Voorhees had never had a woman, so hell. A woman might just come in handy, though who would wanna get off with something like Voorhees, he didn’t know. From what he and others heard from the Chief’s office, the chick was desperate, too, so maybe she wouldn’t be adverse to sucking off Crystal Lake’s resident whack job.

His smirk faded when he saw something out the corner of his left eye, and his mouth ran dry, his tongue failed to move fast enough to avoid his teeth.

“Shit.” Now Hollins knew he was tasting blood, but he didn’t care.

What he did care about, however, was that spot of white he could see not thirty feet from the car.

He watched that bit of white and then there was a flash of silver, and Hollins could see him now, and fuck, fuck. The fucker has a chest the size of the fucking tree next to him, and he was fucking tall, too.

The Deputy grunted and fumbled with the car keys, the clink-clinking sounded far too loud to his ears.

Voorhees had moved closer and Hollins just knew what was coming, then finally.

The Ford sputtered to life, but not before something came hurtling through the window.

Dwight Royston Hollins screamed like a five year old girl who just had her pigtails pulled, and not just that, but the seat got wet and warm as urine involuntarily left his body.

 

XXXXX

 

Jason had very few pleasures in life, but one of them was terrifying the local law enforcement without doing a single thing. The second he threw the rock was the second his amusement began.

The screaming was actually quite musical, bordering on second soprano, and with a harmonic sort of husk.

He watched and heard the utter failure as the engine sputtered several times before it wheezed to life.

“Hey… Hey!”

All 5’1” of woman came racing out of the house like the demons from hell were on her heels. Both arms in the air, legs running like an Olympic sprinter, and voice as shrill as anything Jason had ever heard.

A split second later, Sheriff Ross was there, and wrapping his arms around the woman’s stomach as she screeched and shrieked about how that car cost her four hundred dollars.

Four hundred dollars? No wonder the thing was a death trap.

The woman’s feet moved in circles and her arms were stretched right out as though trying to grab onto what was hers, but the Sheriff didn’t give way despite her struggles.

Jason could see that she was spitting nails, and at any other time, he would have appreciated the sight for there was nothing quite like an angry woman.

He remembered a long time ago when his mother had asked a family friend to babysit, and he recalled when Mr. Tate had come home with lipstick on his collar. At first, Jason had been just as angry as Mrs. Tate, but Mr. Tate had taken him aside that night, and said he had put the lipstick there just to keep “The Missus” on her toes.

And on her toes Mrs. Tate certainly had been.

If the situation had been any different, Jason would have smiled at the sight, but it wasn’t a different situation, and it was time to put an end to things.

His machete would be difficult for any strong man or woman to lift, let alone throw it, yet it was little more than a feather to him.

The sharpened blade slid from its grip, the hilt wrapped tight in a huge fist, and dried blood flaked off at the motion. He took a second to briefly examine the weapon, and single glance was all he needed to take aim.

 

XXXXX

 

“Ma’am, I think it best we be going back to town... Ma’am... Ma…”

The Sheriff's voice ended in a breath sharply sucked in, and Elissa felt the vibration of his heart increase exponentially. She herself felt sudden shock coarse through her because what she felt was like nothing she ever felt in her life.

There was no breeze whatsoever, yet a ghostly wisp of air skimmed her cheek, chilling her right down to the bone. A split second later, a thud hit her ears, and the deep thump of injured wood stopped her lungs from working. A part of her screamed to not look back, to for once do as she was told, to get the hell in that car, and leave, but it was plain old human nature.

When someone said not to look down, the first response was to do just that, and it was the same with the voice of fear inside.

Elissa turned her neck slow as could be, and found a forty inch machete stuck deep in the wooden wall of her house. Hanging from the blade was a chunk of dark blonde curly hair.

Her dark blonde curly hair.

He had cut her hair.

With a machete.

She slid away from the Sheriff, turning her body so she could fully look, her hand reaching up to touch the curls dangling from the blade. Some of the strands came loose and fell gracefully to the ground, soon to become camouflaged by the wooden deck.

“C’mon now, Mz McCormack. This is where we would be leavin. Ya jes’ git yerself behind me until we git in the car.”

Elissa blinked at the local chief, and shook her head. She would not be bullied anymore, and no more was she going to allow others to fight her battles or shield her from the evils of the world. She was alone out here, and she had already gathered that the isolation wasn’t entirely designed by nature, but had more to do with the resident Nelson Muntz.

She ignored the Sheriff, who was busy calling her a crazy broad, and grabbed tight hold of every bit of courage she humanly had, and forced a million dollar smile onto her face.

Elissa waved at the behemoth in the hockey mask. “Good afternoon, sir!” She called out, the sound of her voice crystal clear without the city noise to muffle it.

The man just stood there.

“Is it always this beautiful or just this time of year?” There. She had been more than polite and civil, which was a lot more than one could expect after chopping off hair.

The man still did nothing.

Well, if Mohammed wouldn’t go to the mountain, then the mountain would go to Mohammed.

She bit her lip, hesitating for just that single second about what she was doing, but sheer force of will kept her moving forward.

The only response she got was from sheriff Ross, who huffed and puffed in his hurry to catch up to her. She heard a click and knew the law man had employed his gun, the safety catch off.

She stopped, and chanced a look at the gun, her eyes widened at the sight of gray metal pointed directly at Nelson.

The only gun she had ever seen belonged to her grandfather, and it been one scary machine. Long, with a sword or knife at the end. Bayonet, her memory conjured, but that was in no way as terrifying as the sheriff’s.

Gray eyes glanced at Nelson, her hand itched with the dry hair, and her jugular throbbed with the imagined sensation of steel cutting through flesh. Her hand rose of its own accord and grasped the place where that... that thing would have sliced if he hadn’t missed.

Unless he had meant to miss, in which case sheriff Ross was right about getting the hell out of dodge, but it was too late now considering she was five feet away from him.

Elissa, keeping her gaze trained on the man, and said the only thing that came to mind.

“I think you left something at my place.”


	3. Meet, Greet, and Terrify

Hello again!!

I need to apologise for the very lengthy wait for an update. I’ve been in and out of the hospital since March 18th, and it's been a flipping nightmare! Thankfully it’s all over, and the biopsy results were negative for any sign of cancer, so yippie! On the other hand, I'm now facing months of torture cleverly disguised as hydrotherapy!

Thank you, everyone, for all the kudos! 

The main issue I’m having with this story is the slowness of it all, and I have to keep reminding myself that I’m only onto the third chapter, and I like a good build-up before any action. For the plot, Jason and Elissa need to be fast friends, so I’m working on that, and instead of just writing about how Jason is so overcome by the woman’s prettiness like in so many stories, I need them to find in each other the friend they need. The friendship is gonna need to be completely rock solid.

I would tell you all what that is, but then there would be no story! Needless to say, Jason and Elissa have one rollercoaster ride coming up *grins evily*

All the coming chapters won't take half as long to appear as this one, I promise!

 

XXX

 

Caretaker chapter 3

  
Elissa figured she looked like a world class idiot, stood there and smiling up at her behemoth of a neighbour. She didn't understand the hockey mask, but put it down to localised photosensitivity on the face area. His clothes were tatty and worn, his boots similar, were sure signs they were in the same boat when it came to money and lack thereof. She wondered if he'd take offense if she got him a few new things.

After all, she would have plenty of pennies soon enough.

Silence continued until she decided there was nothing else for it, and she stuck out her head. "Good afternoon. I'm Elissa McCormack."

The man's gaze stared first at her, then at her hand, and when those baby blues of his returned to meet her grays, she nodded, lowering her hand. "I'm originally from Scotland." She explained, still smiling. "From Iona to be exact. My parents brought my brother and I to Uncle Sam when I was five, hence the lack of brogue.."

He continued to stare and so she continued to speak. "I don't suppose you saw what made the deputy steal my car? It's just all my stuff is in there, including my medication."

That got a reaction out of the Behemoth, albeit a small one.

A _very_ small one.

Okay, so he only blinked, but still, it was a reaction.

"I'm diabetic and everything I need is in my car the deputy stole." Elissa gave the Sheriff a withering look as though he was the cause.

"An' so we'll be takin' our leave now. We won't be botherin' you no more, Mr. Voorhees, so if yer'll excuse us, we'll jus' be headin on back to the station'. I can see Mz McCormack ain't to yer likin'."

Elissa nodded in agreement, then realised the Sheriff was taking her away. Away from her new home, away from this pretty lake and the forest.

Away from her job.

"Wait, what? No!"

She yanked her arm out of his hand, wincing as she did so, and glared at the law man. "No, no, no. This job is _mine_! That house is _mine_!" Her eyes looked to Mr. Voorhees, as he was apparently named. "It's mine. I was here first. You know I'll be sleeping in my car if I don't have it! And I have just as much a right to this job, or any job as a matter of fact, as any man."

Mr. Voorhees just stared at her.

The Sheriff's sigh caught the attention of both Elissa and Jason, who looked at him in question. "It ain't about what is and ain't between yer legs, ma'am."

Distaste flashed across her face. "That was crude, Ross."

"Seems like blunt is the only way to get through that stubborn head o'yers."

"I'm not stubborn!" Again she looked to Mr. Voorhees, "I'm not."

Again, he stared at her, only this time there was a strange sort of tension, almost akin to a deep seated anger, in those blue eyes that made her next sentence die before it even formed into words. Intrigued, Elissa tried to read those eyes with a stare of her own, and found herself rewarded with a gaze that turned blank, and a split second later, that void shone with a fury which made her take several steps back.

She licked her suddenly arid lips as it dawned on her that both the sheriff and herself were out here, with one gun, and a car that seemed so very far away.

"I - We didn't mean to interrupt your solitude, Mr. Voorhees." Elissa's voice almost stuttering as the apology came thick and fast. "We'll just be going like the good Sheriff said. I won't be a bother when I move in. Honest. You won't even know I'm here. Cross my heart."

Mr. Voorhees gaze dropped to her fingers that lay right below her chest, and it was obvious he was watching the crisscross motion.

He moved then. Simply looked straight ahead to the house, and walked toward it. Big, long strides that were measured and even, and the message was clear. Follow him and die. Since following him was out of the question, she watched him instead, her eyes widened as he appeared to pluck that sword of his out of the wall like it was nothing.

He looked back at them and she gave him a tiny wiggle of her fingers, and that was it. Communication over as he disappeared into the forest.

A few minutes passed by before she broke the silence.

"Mr. Voorhees..." Elissa mused, her gaze locked onto the path Behemoth had taken. "Was that the father of the little boy who drowned? No wonder he was so angry. Your children are supposed to bury you, not the other way around. Poor man."

"That weren't the pap, ma'am."

"His brother?"

"I wish I could say so."

Her arm was again wrapped in Ross' hand as he guided her back to the house, his swift walk forcing her to pick up the pace. "Uncle?"

The Sheriff shook his head. "That _was_ the little boy, ma'am."

Elissa chuckled a chuckle which slowly faded at the expression on his face, a one that was tired and...

Afraid.

Sheriff Ross was afraid, and she meant really afraid. His face was stiff, and mouth formed a thin, taut line.

"You're serious," she said, her voice quiet. "But that would make him..."

"We don't know what he is."

"A zombie," she finished without hearing his response.

"A what now?" He stopped and stared at her.

"A zombie. I mean, he drowned, which makes him dead, but he’s not dead. He's clearly alive and kicking, which makes him not dead. Thus, a zombie." Elissa shuddered. "We were lucky he didn't eat our brains... Though he seemed pretty controlled for a zombie. Saying that, I only have Hollywood style zombie knowledge, so who knows what zombies really do."

"I can say this with my whole heart. Thank the good lord you said none o'that to Voorhees." He still stared at her before huffing out what may have been a laugh. "Zombies. Damn stuff and nonsense."

"How do you know zombies don't exist, huh? I mean there will be people who don't believe Mr. Voorhees exists, but here he is. Besides, there's even a survival handbook for the zombie apocalypse. Why would that be written if zombies didn’t exist? Tell me that."

"Now I ain't meaning no disrespect, but what in the hellish kind'o planet did you come from?"

 

XXXXX

 

Jason hadn't gone anywhere at all, simply doubled back on his previous path so he could watch and listen.

The woman, Elissa McCormack, was an oddity, and not at all what he expected. She was very weak, he noted from how she winced when the law man took her arm in a light grasp, and she was friendly. He wondered how many times that openness had gotten her into trouble, how many times a man had tried to take advantage of it, tried to lure her back to his place for a nightcap and wouldn't let her go.

It would be oh so easy to kill her. A quick snap of the neck and done. The Sheriff, though. That was different.

Killing him would bring him back from the dead and have not only the locals crawling over Crystal Lake with their pitchforks, but also the press. That amount of attention would shatter what sort of peace and quiet he had managed to hang on too, and even the thought of all that noise made his teeth itch.

So there he stood, suffering their presence with a level patience that would impress Job himself, and wishing they would just go away when the woman tried to see him.

Not see him as in pull his mask away, but peer past the stone facade he had long built up, and he felt it then. That internal stretching which pulled his soul to the point of tearing and his hand curled into a fist so tight, his nails dug into his skin.

Jason knew he had to get away before doing something that would end in him taking refuge, once again, in the lake itself until the gossip died, and he became once more a myth.

It had been all too easy to keep them in his line of sight, though that had more to do with his ability to hunt than anything else, but it still pleased him nonetheless. He kept following his own footsteps until he was far enough away and yet close enough to hear their conversation. When the word zombie was thrown around, Jason's own eyebrows touched his hairline.

The sheriff was right.

Where on the green Earth had she come from?

He shook his head, forcing himself not to get caught up in a conversation he wasn't part of.

So diabetic, and if what she said was true, homeless.

"I won't be bullied, Sheriff." Said she.

Elissa McCormack was either very brave or very stupid, he decided. Or maybe she was just wholly clueless to whom she offered her hand and her friendship. The thought lead him again to wondering how many had taken that hand and torn her apart behind her back.

Jason had seen that happen many times in his years. A handshake and smile here, a double cross there.

“I’ve got nothing to my name.” Elissa McCormack’s voice now could only just be heard. “I can either spend what money I have on actual groceries so I can eat for the week or I can spend it on fast food or noodles. I know what I’m going to do, so Mr. Voorhees can just… Live with it. Besides, I doubt he’d want anyone to go hungry.”

The said Mr. Voorhees stood mere feet away again, only this time not in her line of sight, and he kept listening. His hand ached to hurt when the law man scoffed at her words.

It would be so easy to slip the knife from his boot, go over there, and slice the man’s throat wide open.

“And you, Sheriff Ross, are going to take me downtown so I can rescue my car from that thief you employ, but not just that. On the drive down, you are going to tell me everything. I can’t be caretaker if I’m out of the loop, now can I?”

“Yer don’t know what yer askin for, ma’am.”

Jason watched her shrug.

“I could always ask Mr. Voorhees. I’m sure he’s around here someplace.” Her head resembled that of an owl as she made a point of looking here and there.

“That he will be.”

“You mean he’s following us?” This time when she looked around, Jason knew it he who she sought. “Why doesn’t he just come see us?”

“Because he don’t like us.”

_That isn’t true_ , Jason thought. _I would like you fine if you would just go away_.

“Why? What did we do?”

He felt his lips twitch when her voice rose in an obvious effort to gain his attention. It gave him the urge to show himself again, but no. He was no dancing bear.

“I’ll tell yer on the drive back downtown. That sit well, ma’am?”

Elissa McCormack sighed a very loud sigh that was designed to be heard. “I suppose, but I’m coming back. You hear that, Mr. Voorhees? I’m coming back to _my_ house.”

Jason heard the stubbornness, saw the determination in her hands on her hips, and looked at the earth below his feet. His chest heaved a breath laden with grief and rage.

She didn’t have two cents to rub together, which he supposed could well be a lie, but he’d seen no guile in her. Nor a tendency for deception or manipulation. He might kill on a mass scale, but she was right. He wouldn’t want anyone to starve.

Hell, he wouldn’t kick a dog.

Jason returned his gaze to her and looked for signs that he was wrong, and that she really was one of them. All he saw, though, was the hand she had offered to him, and heard the way she referred to him as Mr. Voorhees. He didn’t want to be amused at all and most certainly didn’t want her in that house.

She hadn’t ran or been afraid, she had smiled at him, carefree and friendly, but she would be living in Old Jed’s house and doing Old Jed’s work. He couldn’t allow that, not ever.

He glanced at her once last time, his eyes took her arms as she gestured all around them, and listened to her voice get quieter as they walked away. Then and only then did he dissect her.

5 feet tall, maximum weight 87 pounds, give or take a few either way. A heart shaped face with too wide a forehead, a slightly pointed chin, and the trademark sculpted cheekbones that were a little on the bony side. Her legs were only a bit fatter than her arms, and her body didn’t have much in the way of shape.

Diabetic she said and it was clearly the truth.

The week, Jason sighed.

Elissa McCormack could stay the week, but once she got paid, she was gone.

_Just a week_.

  
XXXXX

  
The run down old Ford trundled up the road, the lights sliced through the darkness, the engine disturbed the silent peace of the near empty road. Sheriff Ross had shown her the car, but Elissa had taken one look at the car, and baulked. It was obviously a cop car dressed up in a nice shade of green that sparkled in the sun. It was everything her Henry wasn’t, and it was just so… so…

New.

She hadn’t been able to touch the door, for crissakes. Never in her life had she owned a truly new car. Not unless the small Hyundai her dad bought her from his boss’ daughter.

There was something about a new car that was downright terrifying. Maybe it was the thought of crashing it into the first lamppost she saw, maybe it was this, maybe it was that. Whatever the reason, she’d turned the car down with the decision she would save up a bit and go choose one from a local dealership that she felt more suited to.

Something like a Beetle, or a Fit, or even a Chrysler.

Elissa wondered if Jason had a car, and if so, what it was. She couldn’t see him driving anything but a four wheeler, simply because he would need the room to accommodate his size. Again, if there was a grain of truth in the stories told to her, he didn’t really have a need for a car since he never bothered going into town.

She wondered if she might be able to find him, or if he’d be at home, wherever in the woods that maybe.

Did he even have a home?

For all the newspapers and stories and local folklore told to her over take out at the station, Elissa wasn’t sure if she believed Jason was some crazy psychopath or not. There was proof, but who was to say copycats didn’t exist around town? Hell, someone had already done it.

Some guy called Roy Burns had played on the Voorhees myth and committed quite a few murders until he’d been unmasked, so what was to say there hadn’t been more copycats?

Very few people would be stupid enough to do such a thing, of course, and from the stories told to her, she figured Jason Voorhees had a creativity that was pretty difficult to emulate.

She sighed when she saw the sign for the Camp, a smiling face drawn just above the word Blood, which was naturally painted in a deep red, complete with tiny little drops. It was clearly designed to stir the hype surrounding Jason, and done more than likely by some local kids poking fun at out of towners.

Thinking about Jason brought to mind what the Sheriff and his deputies had shown her. The new clippings, crime scene photos, and statements from the very who survived their encounter, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t afraid, because she was.

Downright terrified in fact.

Hell, the closer she got to her new place, the closer she was to peeing her pants, but what else was she going to do? She certainly couldn’t keep going the way she had been these last months, and it wasn’t as if she could back down now. Not after kicking up such a big stink and laying the bravado on thick, then there was her digging up the gender war every chance she got.

Elissa awkwardly steered her car to the parking spot and took a moment after killing the engine. All things considered, there was nothing else to do but hope Jason Voorhees had some pity in those bones of his.

She reached over to grab her things off the passenger seat, her right hand blindly opening the door when a sudden force had the air bag shooting into her entire face and torso.

“Oompha!”

  
XXXXX

  
The jingle of the newest bell stallment alerted Jason to the return of that woman. In all honesty, he hadn’t expected her to come back, not after what the cops probably told her. That’s if they told her anything, of course.

Knowing Ross, it wouldn’t do to upset the little lady’s sensibilities, or some other outdated rot.

The woman had probably dealt with more than her fair share of stupidity, given her diabetes. Proof of that had been plain as day when he witnessed her reaction to the possibility of losing the job of caretaker.

That thought took Jason to musing, again, about the woman with the curly hair.

Curly hair he had cut.

Once he had returned home, he had taken his machete, and held it up in front of the oil lamp he made. Mousy blonde curls dangled from the handle, while a few strands had gotten stuck to the blood drying on the blade.

Shame had threatened his calm, but before he had the time to ignore it, the bell sounded out, and so here he was.

Arriving right outside Jed’s house at the exact time when her car’s aged radiator let out a loud hiss, and a cloud of air surrounded his entire face. Scalding hot mist shoved its way up his nasal passage, stimulating tear ducts into producing stinging tears that burned his eyes, setting off a highly unpleasant sensation deep in his sinuses.

No mistake about it.

The car had to be stopped.

Crunching metal put a swift end to the quiet, the noise shattered through the air like a gunshot, the force of his brute strength lifted the car up off its rear tyres, and it bounced right back down. A white cloud erupted inside the car, and his head tilted to one side as a pile of curls defied gravity momentarily, before they flopped around the eyes that slowly peered over the air bag.

Jason yanked his machete out of the car engine, all the while keeping his gaze locked onto the gaze staring out at him through the window. Gray irises disappeared behind a lengthy blink and when they reappeared, they were wide with complete shock.

Perhaps he should have waited until she had left the car before he made his move.

Oh, well.

He watched the woman slide out, followed by another noise that said she’d dropped pretty much everything out of her purse. The effort he made to help pick it all up was stopped by a forefinger sharply jabbed in his direction.

“Four. Hundred. Dollars.” Said she. “Four. Hundred. Dollars.”

Jason heard her words and looked, again, at the rust bucket that was now absolutely useless.

Daylight robbery, he thought, and figured it was probably a good thing he couldn’t speak.

He made another effort to help her, only this time, it wasn’t a finger, but a glare he got for his troubles.

“What is it with the men in this town?” She asked as she stood upright, using her entire forearm to push her hair back.

Jason stared at her.

“Four hundred dollars, Mr. Voorhees!”

He arched a brow when she stomped her foot. An amusing little action on her part, if he said so himself, though it was definitely a good thing that he couldn’t actually say so.

More amusing was the fact she was staring to the right of him. Looked like the impact of the airbag knocked the wind right out of her sails.

Jason subtly slid a little to the right.

Her mouth opened, obviously in preparation to really let him have it, but she stumbled both over her own feet and her words.

Perhaps he should have waited until she was out of the car before stabbing it.

Oh, well. He knew for future reference.

He looked at her for a moment, his curiosity sated for now, and got ready to leave the woman to it when she scratched her head, confusion all over her face.

“I think I had some stuff in the trunk. I hope the eggs are okay.” A pause. “At least I think I bought eggs. I should check.”

Jason mentally kicked himself.

The woman was diabetic.

A _concussed_ diabetic, and he really, really should have waited until she was out of the car, because now he had to help her. Her injury, mild though it may be, was his fault, and he wouldn’t walk away from it, despite having to face keeping her company. In that house.

Her voice caught his attention.

“...I’m getting a new one soon anyway. Just looks like the Sheriff will have to chauffeur me around town until then.”

Jason nodded as he trudged to the trunk of the car, his head shook a little as he opened it with a single finger. Four hundred dollars, huh? She should have demanded three hundred dollars and ninety nine cents change.

“I was thinking of a Beetle or a Fit. You know, something nice and small.”

A what?

He stared at her, not quite believing what he was hearing.

She was living in a place like Crystal Lake, a place known and celebrated for its rugged terrain and trails, and she wanted a Volkswagen Beetle? It wouldn’t last two minutes around here.

He wondered what sort of car Ross had offered her. Probably a trussed up old cop car, no doubt.

It was then he glanced down and saw how much wasn’t there.

He had seen females lug case after case when they came here for camp, amounts of clothing that bordered on the ridiculous, and not to mention the heels. Heels, for crying out loud.

Who on Earth brought heels to the woods?

Yet what he saw right in front of him surely couldn’t be all she had.

Jason glanced the woman, watched her blush and raise her chin, daring him to laugh or mock her. “So I don’t have very much.”

He shook his head.

What about her family? Where were they while she struggled to make ends meet?

Quite the conundrum, wasn’t she? Oh well, he would find out in due course, he figured, and returned to the task at hand.

The large duffle, he discovered, was just under full, so there was enough room to stuff her medical kit on top of her clothes. A quick motion had the bag over his shoulder, and a quicker flick of his finger closed the trunk, for all the good it did.

He stopped with the realisation Ross must have ordered a window to replace the one he had thrown a rock through, and Jason couldn’t prevent the smirk if he tried. Scaring that deputy had been a truly magical moment indeed, and he would look back on it fondly.

Though it did mean another window to break in order to reach the two grocery bags on the back seat.

“Because doors are so last year.” He heard her mutter in response to the use of his fist.

Then there he was, at the entrance to the house, and his blood turned sluggish in his veins. The heater overhead blew hot air down onto him, and this was as far as he went.

She would have to take care of herself because he couldn’t go in there.

Not today, not ever.

Not when there were flames surrounding him, closing in on him, making bones and sinew scream and singe.

“Mr. Voorhees?”

  
XXXXX

  
“Mr. Voorhees?”

A little voice, thickened with worry, and a set of eyes stared at him, the lack of pigment in those irises shone like solid steel. He stared right on back at her, but kept all those flames behind closed doors so she wouldn’t melt into nothing.

Jason tried, really tried, to keep his focus on that little voice, and to whom it belonged, but it was impossible. He couldn’t focus on anything bar the stench of smoke, the images of carbon monoxide swirling thick and black throughout the house, and the anger that came with those images.

It rose in him, the rush of hatred and self-loathing began shattered the thin wall of calm he managed to build. He felt it prick and scratch at his control, the fingers of hell gripped his esophagus, pushed air from his lungs, and squeezed from him the ability to breathe.

It kept going and going, the waves of fury smashed hard against his heart, sending sprays of imaginary fire and soot into his eyes. His nose remembered well the scent of burnt flesh and wood, his ears heard the gasping breaths of an old man choking on smoke and ash.

He couldn’t stop it now, he wasn’t strong enough to keep his feelings locked up, but he tried. Oh how he tried. Sharpening of weapons, laying traps, walking around the forest, hacking away at the mine...

None of it helped and he was left to deal with the fallout.

The water receded now, the calming tide easing the choppy ocean waters down to the stillness of the lake, providing to him all the safety of home. Ebb and flow turned to ripples made by floating lily pads, the picture soothed the internal tempest, the sound of stillness welcomed and embraced.

Reality set in and Jason’s breath came in deep and thick, his chest began to ache with the effort, his eyes widened when he glanced around.

The microwave lay in bits on the floor, as did cupboard doors, while two chairs were equally destroyed. One was outside and there was a large, armchair shaped hole in the door. The other was sliced in half, its stuffing and fabric decorating the floor, splintered wood scattered every which way.

Around his feet lay clothes and an empty duffle bag, a broken box now a useless piece of plastic decorated by crushed needles and glass.

Jason took a closer look, and closed his eyes at the sight of her medication, of Insulin on his boots.

What the hell happened?

Jed’s house was completely destroyed.

He knew nobody would break in, at least not while he was in residence, and he knew nobody would dare touch her equipment. For such a small thing, the woman had a quiet strength about her that he was sure would rise to the occasion.

Those who had the gall to touch his friend’s medication needed to hope she got to them before he did. He’d ripped a head or two off in his time, he’d also torn a few hearts from chests, but he wouldn’t do that to those who stole from Elissa.

They would find themselves alive for an awfully long time.

Speaking of the woman...

Jason looked around and couldn’t see hide nor hair of her, he couldn’t call her name either, so he had to stick with his eyes and ears.

A slight movement caught his attention, forcing his head to turn to the right, and then he saw the top of her head appearing from behind the sofa, which seemed to be the only thing untouched.

Elissa’s gray eyes slowly appeared over the sofa.

They were wide, he noticed. Wide and so very, very frightened, her voice equalled her gaze and sounded out her sentiments.

“Is it gone yet?”


	4. Little Car, Big Car

Hello, all!  
  
I don't have much to say since my last update was merely a few seconds ago, and so I'll just right into the chapter.  
  
Enjoy :D  
  
Judy xxx

  
XXXXX

  
Chapter 4…

  
The closer sheriff Ross got to Pierfront, the wider his eyes became, and the harder his heart began to beat until he was nigh on ventilating. He brought his car to a dead stop right behind the old Ford and simply stared at the sight in front of him.

The trunk was half open and hanging on an angle, the space inside empty of anything, while the left rear tyre had blown completely. Catching his attention next was a tiny piece of white, just beyond the driver’s seat, which could only be the airbag.

“Jesus God in heaven,” Ross muttered, exiting his car as fast as his old bones would allow.

He hurried to the drivers side, his eyes got wider if possible, and he had to remove his sunglasses to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

Right there, in the hood, was a giant hole that appeared to be a through-and-through, top to bottom, honest to goodness hole. A hole that closely resembled the shape of a very large weapon.

Like a machete.

The cop in him took over, and he scanned both inside and around the vehicle for blood spatter, but thankfully there was none. There were footprints, however. Two sets. One small and one big.

Despite being on the clean-up crew for many of Voorhees’ actions, the sheriff still found himself dumbfounded at the evidence of the brute strength the man had. It was unfathomable, if he was honest, and he was surprised his hair wasn’t yet grey with it all.

Ross followed the footprints towards the house, where he stopped, and again, just stared at the sight.

The huge living room window had been replaced with cardboard, while the door looked to be more than a little askew. Once again, his heart threatened to give out when the ground began to crunch under his feet, the sound that of broken glass.

Despite the destruction, there wasn’t a drop of blood to be seen anywhere, and so he forced himself not to panic. That there were all sorts of things that could cause a giant hole through a car engine, broken window and door.

Except a lady the size of Mz McCormack was in no way capable of such actions, and since he highly doubted she had received any visitors, there was only one explanation.

“Damn Voorhees.”

Ross looked closer at the door, noticing there were some haphazardly applied hinges keeping it up, and the cardboard itself had been nailed down. Again, he had his doubts regarding the little lady’s DIY abilities, so there was only one explanation for the attempt to fix the damage.

An explanation Ross was didn’t want to think on, much less accept, because that would mean quite a rethink where Voorhees was concerned.

He slipped his gun out of its holster, flipped off the safety, and with a deep breath, pressed the doorbell.

 

  
XXXXX

 

  
Elissa groaned and rolled over in her new glorious bed, head now buried under a pillow, determined to ignore the irritating sound of the doorbell echoing through the house.

Another chime of the bell was accompanied by another groan as she slowly sat up, reddened eyes squinted at the soreness induced by sheer exhaustion. They felt gritty, like she hadn’t slept in weeks instead of the…

What time was it, anyway?

She grabbed her phone from the table and grunted.

Nine am.

So she had managed to sleep for six hours at least, which was a lot more than she expected, what with the fun and games of the night before.

How could she?

She was a swirling vortex of emotions ranging from being downright terrified of Jason Voorhees to being downright terrified for him. Among that also lay complete confusion, insatiable curiosity that led to a desperate need to know. She needed to know who, where, when, how, and most importantly, why.

Because quite frankly, a person had to have a damn good reason for having the balls to go after the only friend of Jason Voorhees.

Though they probably got away with it knowing Jason would get the blame, and that was exactly what had happened.

How many times, Elissa wondered as she dragged herself out of bed at yet another doorbell chime, had the blame been laid at the feet of Jason Voorhees? It was probably a number she didn’t really want to know, since it seemed to be humanity’s biggest failing.

Not taking responsibility for one’s own actions, that was.

_I mean, how many times had the victim of rape been blamed over the rapist? Like Tammy Sears at school after she got molested in the parking lot of the mall._

Several consecutive chimes had her opening the window on the landing. “I’m coming, for crissakes! Keep your hair on!” She hollered, her voice hoarse from sleep.

She had a horrid feeling that window would come in pretty handy for dealing with impatient visitors.

It didn’t take long for her to reach downstairs, but unfortunately when a person was still partially asleep, they weren’t overly aware of their surroundings.

Or tiny shards of glass that remained on the floor.

Elissa swore as a stinging pain shot through her toe, and she had to limp towards the door, leaving a trail of blood that would have to be cleaned up. Like she didn’t have enough to do today.

“Good morning, ma’am.”

She looked the sheriff who stood on her doorstep, his uniform impeccably pressed and starched, boots polished, and looking far too much like a morning person for her liking.

Her half open eyes blinked a few times before her gaze landed on the gun Ross was trying to hide behind his back.

“What’s so good about it?” Replied she. “And you can put the gun away. Jason isn’t here.”

“I jus’ came on by to see if yer’d come to yer senses yet.” He slid the gun back into the holster, though his hand stayed on it, just in case.

Elissa rolled her eyes and stepped back to allow him in. “I decided to re-model.”

The sheriff stared at her for a moment. “An’ is one less window preferable?”

“Yes. It’s much warmer on a night. Oh, be careful. There’s still some glass to be swept up and I don’t have a vacuum cleaner yet.”

“My boots will suffice,” and in he came, closing the door behind him. Well, as much as it would close given the fact it wasn’t exactly straight.

Elissa cringed when she saw the microwave in pieces on the floor. Why didn’t she just tell him to call back later? She could have cleaned up a bit more, and snagged a ride to town in order to buy a new car.

“Didn’t like the microwave either, I see.”

“Funny story, actually. It fell off the bench.”

“An’ yer car?”

“It blew a gasket. I blame that thief on your payroll. I knew he went for a joyride.”

“An awful lot’o bad luck ya had last night.”

She pasted a plastic a smile on her face before she looked at him.

“It would seem so,” said she, and swiftly changed the subject. “I’m actually glad you stopped by this morning. It saves me calling you up a bit later and asking if I could bum a ride into town so I can get a new car.”

The sheriff clearly wasn’t put off one bit, but thankfully he decided to let it go, for which she was highly grateful. It wouldn’t be right for her to tell him about Jason’s total melt down last night.

“No problem, ma’am. My presence here ain’t wholly social either. There’s some paperwork yer need to fill out, insurance, medical, and all’o that. I s’pose it can wait until later. Oh, and this…”

Elissa watched curiously as he searched about his jacket before he handed a white envelope to her. “It’s a credit card. Sometimes ‘mergencies can happen, and there ain’t no money to be had. Comes with the job. I thought it might come in handy for yer…”

She didn’t hear anything else he said for she was too busy staring down at the plastic devil currently sitting in the palm of her hand. It was a trap cleverly disguised as a helping hand in times of need. Temptation and necessity all rolled into one.

The savior and damnation of humankind.

Credit cards boasted their environmentally friendliness. Paperless billing saved the world and all its Amazonian rainforests. They boasted they helped the economy by gifting citizens with thousands of dollars. Spend money, flush money into the economy, save the world.

Too many people she knew had given in, and lived above their means, buying designer clothes and flashy cars, all with money which came from a big name loan shark. Now here she was, holding that very evil in the palm of her hand, and all she could think of was Jason had nuthin’ on these puppies.

Flushing money into the economy was an excellent plan, if only the money got where it needed to go, but it didn’t. The money didn’t belong to the people spending it, and all those Benjamins went right back to square one.

“Mz McCormack? Ma’am?”

Elissa blinked and looked at sheriff Ross apologetically. “I was miles away. Sorry. I hate these things. Plastic devils I call them.”

His nod was one of approval. “Yer finally said somethin’ that made sense. Congratulations.”

Grey eyes rolled. “Do you want some tea or coffee? I got to pick up a few things last night on my way home.”

“A cup’o joe wouldn’t go amiss, if I do say so myself.”

She smiled and set about making the beverage, something she would never take for granted again. “Make yourself at home, then you can take the weight off while I go change. That is if you really don’t mind me riding along.”

His right eyebrow comically twitched. “I’d be no kinda gent if I made yer walk, now would I? An’ I can’t see that hunk’o tin being o’ use after that carburator blew.”

Pleased, Elissa’s smile widened, and she hurriedly poured the water from the kettle into the mug. “Exactly! I won’t be very long.”

She was halfway towards the stairs when sheriff Ross called out.

“I thought the gasket blew,” said he as he slowly sipped his coffee. “I musta heard wrong, huh?”

Elissa clenched her jaw so hard, a sharp ache spread right across each damn tooth, and without speaking a single word, resumed her journey up the stairs at a much faster pace.

 

  
XXXXX

 

  
Elissa tapped her fingers off the side of the passenger door and rubbed the window button with her thumb, her mind undecided about broaching the subject of Jason’s friend with the sheriff. After all, if there was anybody to anything, it would be the head cop, right?

Besides, whether or not Ross would reply was a different matter entirely, especially if it was an on-going investigation. Though if Jason was shouldering the blame, then the case was likely to be closed.

She played the safety shot. “Where’s the best car lot?”

The sheriff thought for a moment as he eased the car around a blind bend in the road. “Depending on what it is yer after.”

“I did want something small, not ‘new’ new, but not proof the dinosaurs existed or anything.” She chuckled at his expression. “I had been thinking of a Beetle or a Fit, but I have it on good authority neither of those would be very good for around here. I’m not so big on what’s needed for off-road, if I’m truthful.”

“Good authority, huh? And who might that authority be, ma’am?” Because he sure as hell didn’t recall any of his deputies talking auto with her.

Elissa covered up her mild discomfort with a cough, then thought about lying some more, but really. What was the point?

“Jason, as it happens. And no. My car didn’t break down by itself.”

Ross grunted out what might have been a laugh. “An’ I s’pose ya didn’t remodel.”

Mousy curls flopped about as she shook her head and slumped in her seat. “I don’t know what happened, sheriff,” she sighed. “One minute he was helping me with my groceries and the next…” She waved her hand around in a gesture to the damage.

“He what?”

“He just lost his temper.”

“Before that.”

“Oh.” Elissa blinked. “Well, my car started blowing out steam, and so he killed it. He hung around cos my head took on the airbag and lost.”

The sheriff glanced at her askance. “Groceries, ma’am.”

“Oh! Right. As I said, I was a little out to lunch thanks to the airbag and Jason helped me bring my bags in. It was very kind of him to help somebody he doesn’t know. At least I think so.”

“Yes. Very.”

“And I said, he was fine for little while and then…” She shrugged. “It was like somebody flipped a switch or something. Did you catch who killed the old man?”

When no reply came forth, a frown of confusion appeared on her face. “There _was_ an investigation, right? I mean, the old man’s death wasn’t just dumped on Jason out of convenience.”

The expression on the sheriff’s face was almost blank.

Almost, but not quite.

His lips had thinned a little, and his gaze was on the road, and Elissa felt her heart beat just that bit faster. Surely sheriff Ross hadn’t let a murderer go free because Jason was easier to blame or to simply have an open-and-shut case.

He eventually replied. “No, ma’am. Nobody was ever charged, and no. I don’t think Voorhees played a part in it. Anybody with a lick o’ sense knows he weren’t the one to burn that ol’ place to the ground. Fire ain’t the MO o’ Jason Voorhees.”

“Then why?”

“No evidence,” he spat, his tone a clear indication of his anger and irritation. “Not a damn thing. Case went cold.”

“Surely there must have been something. Foot print?”

Ross shook his head. “By the time me ‘n the boys got there, the entire area was crawlin’ with the ‘mergency services and whatnot. Though we did spot some boot prints, average size. The grip matched a brand popular around these parts.”

A grimace scrunched Elissa’s face up and she shook her head. “Not even enough to get a warrant. So, there’s still a murderer and arsonist roaming the streets of Crystal Lake. How Jason must feel.”

This time, the sheriff’s face was anything but blank.

“Say what, ma’am?”

“I just meant that… The old man was his only friend, and knowing justice hasn’t been done. Can you imagine? You have one person in the whole world and then they’re gone. Whoosh. In the blink of an eye. Everybody blames you, and you’ve done nothing wrong. Well, at least not this time.”

Ross gave her a dumbfounded look. “I somehow doubt that’d be the case.”

“Did you see my place?” Elissa exclaimed, her eyes wide. “Jason didn’t crack because he felt nothing!”

“An’ here I thought ya’da mentioned that zombie stuff and nonsense to him.”

A noise of frustration escaped her mouth before she could stop it. “You can’t just leave a murderer to go free!”

The silence from the sheriff began to make her uncomfortable. It continued until he, again, eventually spoke.

“Did he speak o’ it?”

Elissa shook her head. “He doesn’t like me, much less trust me enough to say… Well, anything, really.”

He nodded, a gesture of acceptance, and then slowed the car down as they entered the town. “If ya want a good drive, might I suggest a four wheel drive?”

“Me? In a four by four?” She asked, somewhat dubious. “I can barely see over the wheel in my Ford! Maybe I should just get it fixed…”

“That darn bucket ya got ain’t fit fer purpose.” He cleared his throat. “Pardon my French.”

Elissa deflated a little. “I suppose it’d be a bit of a chore fixing the hole Jason made.”

“Yer getting quite the hang o’ common sense.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” she replied dryly, then looked out the window as the sheriff brought the car to a stop. “The town looks different in the daylight.”

“Uh-huh. Now,” Ross said. “If yer git on over to The Car Lot… Jus’ right there, ya see… An’ ask ta see Greg Farley, he’ll take care o’ya. He don’t mess around, does Farley. Knows his business well.”

She nodded. “The Car Lot. Greg Farley. No nonsense. Got it.”

His voice stopped her right before she exited the car.

“An’ don’t let that young dandy, Ben Lowry, in there pull one over on ya. He’s a slippery sort, ya hear?”

She grinned widely. “Diabetes medication kills the sex drive, so I’m perfectly safe from the dandies. Besides, Jason would have something to say about gentlemen callers.”

With that, Elissa was gone, leaving the sheriff gaping after her.

  
XXXXX

  
Each and every car gleamed in the mid-morning sun, the price tags strategically placed to where the customer could see it best. The prices were much different to those where she was from. Different by a couple of thousand dollars.

She looked over the only station wagon with a price tag of $3,550, which was two thousand less than what Harland's back home charged. It was living proof of just how much people were being ripped off on a daily basis.

She casually meandered over to another car, an SUV. Blue, with a black roof, and equipped with all sorts of technology, but it was quite small. Gorgeous, yes, but small, and it was this which made her start truly evaluating just what she wanted and needed in a car.

Space was a must, and the more space, the better. Particularly if she was going to be sticking around, and with the distance between her place and town, she couldn’t foresee driving down every other day for milk. Thus, space for a good grocery shop was a priority.

Elissa, invigorated with a new set of goals, squared her shoulders and headed for the building that said The Car Lot. In big, bold red and yellow lettering, no less.

There were three young men inside, two blondes and a brunette, and all were roughly the same age, though differently built, yet they all had similar characteristics. One of the blondes sat in front of a PC, while the other stood behind him, occasionally pointing to something on the screen.

The brunette, however, was sat behind a desk, flipping through a car magazine of some sort.

Signs of employees diligently working and reading up on the industry’s latest news gave a good impression.

Elissa decided the place couldn’t be so overwhelming with three hard working people running the show.

“Hello?” She called out, and bit her lip when all three men looked her way.

As if responding to an autocue, all three stood, and smiled at her.

“Good morning!”

“Welcome!”

The two blondes said, but it was the brunette who hurried forward.

“Good morning, ma’am. My name is Benjamin Lowry, and these are my cousins and colleagues, Chase and Trevor Watkins. How can we help you on this fine day?”

His smile was all teeth and dimples, and Elissa wondered if this was how she had looked to Jason yesterday.

She mentally shuddered at the thought.

“Hi, is Mr. Farley in?”

Benjamin’s smile never faltered. “He’s out on business right now. Can I help or do you want to leave a message?”

_Damn_ , her mind swore. Her type of luck never failed.

“The sheriff, sheriff Ross I mean, told me Mr. Farley would help me with a car,” Elissa purposely name dropped Ross as it might swing things in her favour, despite the lack of Greg Farley.

“I see. Well, let’s go take a look, and see what we have that’s suitable.” Lowry guided her out of the door before she could say boo to a goose.

“I need an SUV. Something spacious…” She tried infuse some strength to her voice, but by the compact cars now in front of her told of her failure.

“We have this little Toyota here, an Aygo. Only three years old, thirty thousand on the clock, and comes with everything a lady would need.”

His toothy smile made her understand while Jason killed people, while his attitude brought her dad’s voice to mind.

_Don't let them sway you, stick to your guns, and don't be a pushover._

Elissa took a deep, calming breath before she spoke. “Mr. Lowry, this is not an SUV or a four by four, which is what I came here for.”

She congratulated herself when that grin of his flickered momentarily, and mentally logged the score.

_Elissa one, car salesman zero._

“In that case, follow me…” Again, his arm came down around her back, and he began to direct her movement to where he wanted her to go.

She ground her teeth so hard, a bit of enamel flaked onto her tongue. Turning away, she quickly wiped her tongue with her finger.

_Ick._

They came to a stop in front of what could probably be the world’s smallest SUV crossover, and she wanted to scream.

“It would be perfect except for the lack of everything I want and need.” Elissa somehow managed to convey patience in her voice, a patience she didn’t feel in the slightest.

“Very well,” replied Lowry, his tone not quite as patient as hers.

_Elissa two, Car Salesman zero._

She was prepared this time, and stuck her hands in her back pockets to prevent that arm of his once again landing on her person. It was a struggle to keep from smirking at the look on his face.

“This is a Toyota Hr-V. As you can see, it’s an SUV of sorts. It’s a good runner, not much on the clock. Good price, too, as you can see.”

She looked at the blue Toyota in front of her, her eyes taking in the boxy shape, dull blue shade, and…

Was that rust on the wheel arch?

“Not bad,” she admitted, and it wasn’t. It had the space of a station wagon, would have the Toyota reliability, and it would be a decent little runner. Though how it would handle the rough terrain of the woods, she didn’t know.

Elissa looked at Lowry. “Would it handle rough, uneven terrain, do you think? Because I really don’t want to need a new car a few months down the line… On second thought, may I log into your wifi here, so I can look for some reviews online?”

Slowly but surely, a red flush crept up his cheeks, and he averted his eyes.

_Gotcha! Elissa three, Car Salesman zero._

“I can’t say that it does,” he said, his voice clipped and sharp.

She watched his brow furrow as his gaze roamed over her, and a split second later, that smile of his became something not quite so friendly.

“Very well… We have this beauty right here…” Lowry patted the hood of a gorgeous, cherry red Range Rover Challenger, and she did mean gorgeous.

The paint job was flawless, no rust anywhere, it looked strong and sturdy, came equipped with all sorts of technology, including a SatNav. Then there were the military headlights, which simply looked absolutely awesome, and the interior wasn’t to be sniffed at, either. All beige and comfy looking, clean, modern, and just all round excellent.

Elissa stood on tiptoes and tried to get a better look, but it was just a bit too high for her. “How much?” She asked as she walked around to the hood.

“Thirty six thousand dollars, which is roughly the average price for a vehicle of this calibre.”

“Not bad. Doable.” She muttered to herself, her eyes still on the big red behemoth. “Definitely doable. It would be worth it. What’s the monthly?”

“It depends how long you want to take before settling the balance.”

“So a thousand dollars over a three year period, or five hundred dollars over a five.” Given her salary was eight thousand per month, she could afford to have it paid off in two years, instead of three. Though that would leave a lot less money for house repairs, which she figured was one of the reasons behind such an enormous amount.

Medical bills being the other.

Could she stand to pay off a car for five years? That was half a decade. It was a lot to think about, that was for sure.

In the meanwhile, though, she would what else was on offer in this place.

“Anything else to look at while I think about it?”

An expression of deep thought crossed his face for a moment. “We have a lovely SUV on sale as it happens, for around twenty nine thousand dollars. Follow me…”

Elissa frowned when he stopped, then noticed an older gentleman coming in their direction from the office. She glanced at Lowry when she thought she heard him curse, but decided it was her imagination, and returned her attention to the older man.

He was taller than the sheriff, shorter than Lowry, with dark hair peppered with grey, and his eyes were surrounded by laugh lines. His smile was genuine and warm, unlike Lowry’s all tooth and no goodness, and she found herself smiling back.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.”

“Afternoon?” Elissa gaped and looked at her watch. “I’ve been car shopping for an hour and a half already? Stars!”

“You know what they say,” Lowry chuckled, a touch of unease in the tone. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

“That’s up for debate,” she scoffed.

The older man’s warm gaze cooled some as he looked at Lowry. “May I have the pleasure?”

“Elissa McCormack. I just moved here… Well, yesterday as it happens. Sheriff Ross brought me here and told me to see a Mr. Greg Farley, but he’s out on business.”

“Oh, he is, is he?” There was cooling warmth in those eyes now, only downright frost, and she almost felt sorry for Lowry. “An’ who informed you of that, if I may?”

“Mr. Lowry did, and he’s been trying to help me find what I need. We had a few misunderstandings at first, but we seem to be on the same page now.” Elissa sneaked a look at Lowry, only to find his gaze was firmly on the floor.

Realisation began to dawn that Mr. Farley was not out on business, and she had been deliberately mislead.

She closed her eyes and counted to ten before she exhaled slowly.

Now I understand why Jason kills people, she thought.

She might not have said anything more, but she was alone in Crystal Lake. Alone, as in no family member to come to her defense, no-one to help her fight any battles, and no-one to go to bat for her. She was all she had to rely on, so she had to start living up to that.

“You lied to me, then ignored me when I said, more than once, what I wanted…” As Elissa spoke, she noticed a black Land Rover for sixteen thousand dollars. Following that, she noticed another Land Rover for just under ten, and another for fifteen thousand fifty.

“Why did you take me to the most expensive cars? I said I wanted a new used…” She stared, then laugh of disbelief escaped her throat. “Of course. The price.”

Lowry gave her an ugly look. “You don’t exactly look like you’re rolling in it. What you want is out of your price range, not to mention you personally.”

Before she had a chance to respond, Mr. Farley spoke up.

“I had a call from your friend, sheriff Ross. He said you would be needing the best we’ve got since you’re the new Caretaker up at the lake,” said Greg, his head bounced in a swift nod. “Take the rest of the day off, Benjamin. It’s obvious you’re not ready to handle important clientele.”

“I knew you were busy going over the contracts with Addison's, sir. And she didn't tell me she was the new Caretaker!” Lowry exclaimed, his face now white. “If she’d said, I would have…”

“Treated me with the respect I deserve for being a potential customer to add to your commission?” Elissa retorted acidly.

She made a show of taking Mr. Farley’s arm. “I think I’m in good hands with this gentleman. You can go now.” She paused. “Unless you want a house call?”

Watching the slimeball known as Benjamin Lowry run off at the speed of light was well worth exploiting Jason’s reputation. She made a mental note to thank the big guy later. Maybe with a new pair of boots and warm socks.

Elissa chuckled before she turned to Mr. Farley. “So, the sheriff called. He must think I’m a kid.”

The older man smiled. “Not at all, ma’am. In fact, he done said you were one of the most capable, pig brained woman he ever met.”

“There’s a compliment in there somewhere.”

He laughed. “That’s Ross for you. Now, let’s see what we can do about your car.”

  
XXXXX

  
Jason wiped his forehead with his sleeve and looked up at the darkening sky. Not quite half five in the late afternoon, and it was already growing dark. He would give it another couple of weeks to a month before winter fully set in, which gave him just enough time to start stocking up on things he would need.

Like firewood, for one.

He looked down at the pile of wood in the rucksack at his feet, and sighed. He had done his job well it seemed. Very few trees had needed as much cutting back this year, and that unfortunately meant he would need to cut one down to ensure his survival.

He would plant several in its place, of course, yet cutting down trees was one thing he sincerely abhorred. Particularly as the world seemed hellbent on destroying every rainforest they came across, despite knowing how vital trees were to the human economy, and that of the wildlife that used them.

Jason knelt down to put the few deadened twigs in the rucksack and zipped it up when a low grumbling sort of noise appeared. He scowled.

What was it this time?

He had already been forced to kill three poachers today, and he honestly couldn’t be bothered to kill any more today. After last night’s eruption of emotion, he’d had little sleep, and helping to clean up after his outburst hadn’t done much for him, either.

How could he face her again?

It wasn’t as though he could just go knocking on her door, and brandishing a peace offering.

Jason stuck his hand in his pocket, and pulled out the pretty piece of smoky quartz he found down the mines. He held it up to the dying light, admiring the swirl of dark colours, the sparkle of crystal. It was a very pretty little bauble, and he knew she would like it.

She seemed to take pleasure in the simple things, such as last night’s sunset. She had stood out on the porch, her gaze trying to take in the forest as a whole as the lowering sun sliced through the trees. She told him, then, that the city had too much light pollution for people to truly enjoy what was above them.

Well, the woman had a week to enjoy such sights before he made her leave.

It did strike him as a quite, having so much light it blocked the sky, and obstructed all the wonderful things to see in it. Though if people were so disgruntled by that, why did they not fight against it?

Just like that newspaper left behind by a photographer a couple of weeks ago. The world was in an energy crisis, and yet billboards sparkled and glittered, Christmas lights covered house after house, from top to bottom, in nigh on every street, in every city.

People just wanted what they wanted, and it was as simple as that. They talked a lot, puffed up with righteous anger, and when push went to shove, they sharp shut up when it meant they had to go without.

Not that cutting down on Christmas lights was going without, but there would undoubtedly be somebody out there who would say it went against their rights.

Hypocrites, Jason thought as he turned in the direction of the grumbling, which was much louder now, and he scowled.

It sounded like a bear with indigestion or something.

Then he saw the headlights, all bright white and blinding, attached to some monstrosity of a…

Jason used his free hand to smack his forehead.

The woman went car shopping, and was clearly successful.

He watched it slow down as it approached him, stepping back accordingly when the window lowered, and a smiling face appeared.

“Well?” She asked, oh so perky. “What do you think? Want to go for a ride?”

Jason looked first at the woman, then to the pile of logs at his feet, and back to the woman smiling at him through a sparkling gunmetal gaze.

Work could wait.


End file.
